set on the last night of the full moon, within an hour or so of sunrise.



She was the wolf, and the wolf was everywhere - wildly, out of control. No human was on the street. The wolf was disappointed by that, but nothing could stop the euphoric joy the moon brought. The wolf was free and running. Monica was just holding on for the ride, really.

They'd covered most of the streets. The wolf was fast, faster than most other werewolves, simply because that was what they had always done during the full moons - just run. Monica could never pinpoint why exactly the nature of her beast was so honed on running; she had been prepared to deal with the bloodlust, the carnivorous rage, everything, but it had never been as debilitating as she'd assumed it would be. The only thing that gripped her was the overwhelming feeling of run, run far away, run as fast as you can and don't stop.

It was, more often than not, the most frustrating part of being a werewolf. Monica had looked forward to being sore in the mornings afterwards, looking to them as a bruise she could wear with pride, evidence that yes, she was a beautiful creature when the moon rose. But the part that caused the most agony were her hands and feet, which often hurt so badly for the day or so afterward that she couldn't drag herself out of bed.

..Which she'd actually be dealing with quite soon, she realized. Already, the wolf's presence in her mind detected the faint changes in the atmosphere as the sun began thinking about coming up, over the horizon. The nighttime near-freeze was already taming down to a mere goose-bump inducing chill, but it had yet to affect her; she had worked up a light sweat over the span of the entire night.

She slowed her pace until finally slid to a stop outside an old building, one that looked ruined enough to have been marginally forgotten by humans. The wolf pricked it's ears towards the shadows of the front door. She crept through the alley and padded gently to a gigantic opening in the side of the building. There was no human scent at all. Most of it was rat and feline. The wind shifted slightly; the wolf bristled as she caught the scent of werewolf, but after a second's consideration, she deemed it too old to be a threat.

Delicately, the wolf picked her way into the building. It was old, that was for sure. Her breath, faster than usual because she had yet to calm down after the run, stirred up a great amount of dust and spiderwebs. She twisted about, shaking out her golden-brown fur as she dug deeper into the building, passing piles of wood and abandoned furniture. The human scent was a little stronger here, but was still faint with age.

Homeless people, the human reasoned from the depths of her own mind. The wolf acknowledged it only briefly and then continued casting her nose about. Monica knew the wolf was looking for a decent place to hide. This was the most dangerous time for a werewolf to be on the street. Slayers were out in force as the sun set, and when the sun rose. That was when the werewolves were most vulnerable, caught between human and wolf, prone to mistakes.

We should have stayed closer to home, Monica informed the wolf. The mental force of her 'roommate', as Monica liked to call the wolf, was slowly calming, but still annoyed by Monica's logic. The sun was close to rising. It would not be long before the wolf retreated, leaving the girl naked in a strange part of town. Which was great, considering that was one of the things the slayers would look for.

The wolf whined softly, digging her massive, clawed paws through the old piles of human things. Clothes, Monica realized.

And then, quite suddenly, the wolf lowered itself to the ground and arched it's back, raised it's hackles and made a low growl. Noise, she relayed to Monica, half panicked, as she shifted her brown eyes towards the upper levels of the building.